


Wish Me (Back to Life)

by Sparcina



Series: Iron Webs to Covet [16]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Everyone Gets A Hug, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Peter wishes Tony back to life.There are interesting side effects.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Iron Webs to Covet [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/779883
Comments: 16
Kudos: 166
Collections: The tuesday Celebration Flash





	Wish Me (Back to Life)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



> Dearest Lou, here's a little _purr_ sonalized gift for you. Happy Tuesday!
> 
> PS: this fic is part of an exchange and has been re-dated for author reveals.

“How did this… Wow, that's just... Not that I'm complaining or anything, but did you know about this side-effect?”

Peter could hear the note of hysteria in his own voice, but it was perfectly justified, okay? He was holding the magic device he'd picked up earlier, some kind of slick black wand that had been gathering dust on a bookshelf. What harm could it do, to have faith and make a wish? None, he'd thought, and closed his eyes, squeezing the wand in both hands and focusing on the hole in his chest. He was an eternal optimism, heartbroken as he may be. Five weeks, three days, and eleven hours was nowhere near enough to crush his hope.

_Let Mr. Stark be alive. Please let Mr. Stark be alive. He has to live! Pleasepleaseplease..._

He’d been there. When Thanos had wiped Mr. Stark’s out of existence by sheer force of will, Peter had been _right there_ , using every bit of superhuman strength he possessed to take off the Gauntlet from the monster’s hand. But he hadn’t been fast enough. Nebula had cut Thanos’s head off in a ~~frightening~~ impressive display of hate and efficiency, but she had been too late as well: Mr. Stark was already dead by then. Gone in a snap of purple fingers.

Rectification: Mr. Stark had been dead. He was very much alive here and now, and as naked as the day he was (re)born. Of course, resurrecting the dead couldn’t be straightforward, and Peter's wishing his return with the help of some unknown magical artifact had resulted in some unexpected, seemingly unrelated side-effects. Namely: an additional set of ears. On the top of his head, amidst unruly brown curls. _Cat_ ears.

Peter didn’t need a mirror to know that. He’d petted enough stray cats in his life to recognize the shape and texture at his fingertips. The realization that the briefest touch turned him on was somewhat worrisome on several levels, but he was more concerned about his choice of pants for the day: tight and tailored.

“Did I know that you would sprout cat ears as a result of wishing Stark back to life?” the Sorcerer Supreme answered at last. “I knew there would be consequences.” At the word ‘consequences’, he deigned to look up from the dusty volume in which he’d been scribbling notes for the last ten minutes. “Magic is about trades and compromises, Peter. There’s always a price to pay, which is why I warned you not to touch anything.”

He returned to his writing, seemingly unfazed by the freshly-resurrected man sprawled on his couch, as if superheroes came back to life in his office every Tuesday around 10 pm. _Naked_. 

Peter's mind spun. “If I hadn't _touched_ that wand, Mr. Stark wouldn't be here," he said, throat tightening around the last few words.

"This _wand is_ called the Great Wishing Rod," Dr. Strange corrected, sounding insulted on behalf of the artifact. "And I was already working on a spell to that effect."

"The kid's more brilliant than either of us," Mr. Stark chimed in from his spot on the couch.

Peter blushed, and risked a quick glance at the older man. Which was clearly a mistake, because Mr. Stark's thighs were _parted._ The older man didn’t seem overly impressed by his current situation. He was prodding at his chest, as though the lack of scarring held more interest to him than, say, his continued existence. Or his nudity. 

Neither unfazed nor immune to any of this, especially not the sight of his naked mentor, aka the protagonist of every R-rated fantasy he'd had in the recent years, Peter didn’t dare speak further. Or move. _Or_ look at such temptation. He’d almost thrown himself at the man earlier, overcome by joy and relief. Thankfully (sadly), all that exposed skin had registered in time, and he’d hurried back to the other side of the room, unwilling to subject Mr. Stark to an ill-timed boner. Or his cat ears. What if Mr. Stark was allergic to cats? Peter felt his stomach drop at the thought. 

The Cloak of Levitation patted him on the shoulder in silent commiseration. It was it who’d showed the wand to Peter, so he gave the fabric a gentle squeeze of thanks. He should be happy. He was. So very much. But he had not the faintest idea how to act under those miraculous circumstances. And then, there was the matter of his new ears. It was… peculiar to pick sounds from _four_ different points. He could hear the scratching of Dr. Strange’s quill in his dusty-smelling volume with unnerving clarity, and he’d had heightened senses before getting those cat ears. He could hear the Cloak pulling a book at his back, and flipping through the pages. He could hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat, strong and steady…

… speeding up… 

Mr. Stark was looking at him. More specifically, at his brand-new, magically-induced cat ears.

Peter gulped, and those brown eyes moved to his throat. Before he could find something helpful to say, a tentative touch to the tip of one of his furry ears sent a bolt of arousal straight to his groin.

“Levi!” he choked out, and dropped the wand.

It vanished in a flash of orange sparks.

“Yeah, Strange, control your wardrobe, will you?” Mr. Stark snapped.

The cloak bowed in a silent apology before it joined the Sorcerer, every swirl of fabric expressing repentance. Dr. Strange closed his book with a snap and waved the Cloak away. The wand materialized in his hand. "I could always let you walk out of here completely naked, Stark."

“And that’s a threat how?”

Mr. Stark didn't even glance at the wand. Dr. Strange rolled his eyes.

“You owe me your life, Stark. I’m still waiting for the magic words.”

“Oh, but Strange, I don’t owe _you_ anything.” Mr. Stark shot to his feet, eyes still trained on Peter. “Thank _you_ , Pete.”

“Honestly, I—I didn’t know what I was doing, I'm so glad you're back, I mean, I... just made a wish."

“You trumped death," Mr. Stark said after a beat of silence, his voice soft and warm. "I’d say you did very well on instinct alone, sweetheart. You’re always so resourceful. The very best."

 _Sweetheart?_ Peter's chest filled with warmth. That _other_ hope flared up within him, bright, so bright. He bit down his lip. In the background, Dr. Strange made a noise of disgust. Peter gave exactly zero fucks, because Mr. Stark had come to stand right in front of him, still naked, smiling, impossibly inviting, and wow, okay, now Peter had to reach out and hug him, if only to make absolutely sure he wasn't having the best dream of his life.

“What do you say, Pete?" Mr. Stark opened his arms and wiggled his fingers at him. "Awkward hug of thanks for beating Death off with a stick?”

"It's the Great Wishing Rod, you ignoramus."

"Go back to your studies, Harry Potter," Mr. Stark retorted, still watching Peter.

The intensity of his scrutiny made Peter's skin tingle. He could feel his extra pair of ears twitch in reaction to Mr. Stark's proximity, and the gleam in those brown eyes made it clear that the fact hadn’t escaped Mr. Stark.

Dr. Strange stood up with a long-suffered sigh and packed his book under his arm.

“Do you two need a room?"

*

They really needed a room.

“I t-thought… _ah,_ fuck, I thought you wanted a hug!”

“I _am_ hugging you, sweetheart. That’s called, _fuck,_ yes, multitasking.”

He wasn’t wrong. They were hugging. Sort of. While Mr. Stark—‘You should call me Tony if I'm taking you to bed’—pushed into Peter with slow, measured thrusts. Peter wasn’t quite sure how they got here. One moment, they were hugging, the embrace not quite as awkward as promised, and the next they were making love in Mr. Stark's bed.

It probably started with those words:

“Love the new ears, sweetheart. Can I touch?”

Or maybe that confession, after a first kiss that made Peter rethink what a kiss ought to be:

“I meant to tell you before, but this shitshow happened, and I was d—You know what, I have no excuses, and what I'm trying to say is: I love you, Pete.”

Unless it was that confession, grunted in his ear while Tony stretched him open with slick fingers:

"I'm yours, Pete. For as long as you'll have me."

There were probably hundreds of calls awaiting Tony's attention, but as soon as they'd stepped into the bedroom, Tony had told Friday to lock the whole penthouse down. Since then, he'd been lavishing Peter with attention, pleasuring him with words and touches both. He wasn't the one who'd just been brought back to life, and yet he felt as though _this_ , right here, was what it meant to be alive.

Mr. Stark's weight on him.

Mr. Stark's cock inside him.

"Are they sensitive? I've been wondering..."

The instant Tony’s fingers brushed his new right ear, Peter’s back arched off the bed. A slight tug to the tip was all it took for him to come all over again, adding to the stickiness on his belly.

“W-Wow. That was... _please,_ Tony," he babbled, not quite sure what he was asking.

A hand cupped his cheek, warm and callused, not quite familiar just yet. Peter's heart stuttered. Tony's expression was affectionate but fierce, a heady combination that made Peter flush to the tip of (all) his ears in the best way.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Should I keep going?”

“Please.”

Tony kept going. He fucked Peter through three more climaxes before his rhythm started to falter. Peter kissed him while Tony chased his own pleasure, and he was fully hard again by the time Tony came deep inside him. 

And Tony wasn't done.

“T-Tony!” Peter gasped as teeth grazed the shell of one furry ear. Arousal shot up his spine, warm and sudden, glorious, and that was before Tony set out to suck the tip with gusto. His balls tightened almost painfully. “Ohmygoddothatagain!”

Hours later, when Peter drifted off to sleep after a dry orgasm, Tony pulled him into his arms and kissed him goodnight. Peter pinched himself, and relaxed at the pain. This was real.

Tony was back. And he was _his_.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate spoilery title: Peter Parker, Accidental Catboy Necromancer
> 
> In other words: _make them hug !! and then ? touchkissandtaketheirclothesoff (also: CATBOY PETER !!!)_
> 
> Love your ideas, Lou <3


End file.
